Five Peaceful Moments
by I'm proud of you
Summary: The first five peaceful moments of Harry Potter's life. Contains manlove, mild drug and alcohol use, and kindness. Enjoy it!


Five Peaceful Moments

Life was never calm when you were the Chosen One. I could literally count all the times that I'd truly felt at peace on one hand. Five fingers, five occurrences; all of which happened after I did away with the Dark Lord.

It makes sense, doesn't it? I never felt peace as a child due to my far-from-affectionate upbringing. It was hard to feel calm and safe when you were in constant fear of getting beaten up by your behemoth of a cousin. My years at Hogwarts only proved worse; would _you _be able to relax when the most dangerous wizard of the day was returning to power? When him and all of his followers were trying to murder you and your loved ones at every turn, and not even the best protection could help because (and here's the kicker), _you, _a seventeen year old _kid,_ was the only one who could get rid of him? It certainly makes it difficult to get a restful night's sleep.

But peace was difficult to come by, even after I destroyed the Horcruxes and did the impossible; sacrificing myself and bloody _resurrecting _to kill Voldemort. Sure, the war was over, but there was all of that loss, and I was responsible for letting it happen. How could I sleep knowing that Lupin, Fred, Tonks, Moody, Cedric, Dumbledore, Creevy, Sirius, Hedwig, my _parents_, and countless other names and faces were gone? Teddy was an orphan and it was all my fault. While I may not have lived in fear, I lived with a guilty conscience. The latter sometimes proved to be far worse, especially without any impending doom to distract me.

As you can see, my constant clenched stomach, pounding heart, and inability to sleep all fit together in a tangle of grief coupled with post traumatic stress disorder. After everything I'd gone through, a little extra solitude and anxiety made sense. The fact that my first moments of peace happened _after _the downfall of Voldemort, during the make-up eighth year of Hogwarts made sense too. However, the fact that my first five moments of peace all occurred in the presence of Draco Malfoy… Well, that made no sense to me at all.

The first time I ever truly felt at peace stemmed from a chance encounter and the allure of self-medication. It was early October at around two o'clock in the morning when I awoke from yet another nightmare. Not feeling the promise of sleep coming on anytime soon, I slipped on a sweatshirt over my pajamas, followed by my father's Invisibility Cloak, and let my mind and feet wander. I had been out to the lake at night several times this month alone and it served me no better comfort than anywhere else, but still, it was better than lying awake in bed.

I was surprised to see that my usual spot was already taken. Even from a distance, that pale blonde hair was immediately recognizable as Malfoy's. Years of animosity taught me not to sneak up on him. While revealing myself to him might have warranted some foul words and nasty insults, surprising him would have no doubt gotten me hexed or beaten. I chose verbal assault over physical or magical and removed my cloak.

"Evening Malfoy," I called from a safe distance away. His body went rigid briefly then oddly enough, he relaxed when he saw that it was me.

"You scared me, Potter." He said, but made no move to attack.

"Didn't mean to," I said back, vaguely wondering when the torrent of insults was going to begin. I tested my luck.

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" I asked him.

"I could ask you the same question." He responded; a tiny smile playing across his lips. It wasn't his typical sneer, but rather, it was soft and pleasant. I barely recognized him this way, but it was very becoming.

"Care to sit down?" he asked. I was thankful for the dark; otherwise he would have seen my jaw drop entirely to the ground.

"Pardon?" I choked. He chuckled.

"Is this weird for you?" he asked delicately.

"A bit, yeah." I admitted, "You're being civil."

"Voldemort's gone, we're eighteen… things are different now, Harry." He explained.

"I'll say," I muttered, sitting myself down on the grass next to him.

"You alright, champ?" he asked after a moment while he searched his pockets for something that I didn't pay attention to, "You seem preoccupied."

"How could you tell?" I asked, still surprised that neither of us had started shouting yet.

"We've been at each other's throats since we were eleven," he stated, matter-of-factly, "It would be irresponsible of me to _not _be able to tell when my life-long enemy was upset," He paused then added, "Although we hardly seem like enemies now, eh?"

He had a point. Relaxing a little, I leaned my back against the trunk of a tree.

"I like this," I said finally, "This whole _us not fighting _thing. Mild manners suit you, Draco."

He smiled at the sound of his name.

"Ever smoke before, Potter?" he asked, conversationally.

"I haven't," I admitted. He smirked.

"What's the matter?" he teased while he busied himself with whatever he had found in his pockets, "Is the Golden Hero too scared to break the rules?"

"It's not that," I said, laughing internally at the sheer amount of rules and laws that I had broken throughout my life.

"What then?" he asked, innocent and curious. I could hear my voice drop and felt my gut clench itself once more.

"Well, to be honest," I said, "all that running around after Voldemort left little time for normal teenager experiences."

"Well, you're missing out." He replied. I sniffed at the remark.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "I bet that's why you're out here tonight anyway. Trouble sleeping?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"I don't blame you," he mused, "I'd been wondering how you were holding up. I've been worried about you, you know. I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to ask you, though."

"Ask me what?" I asked, amazed at how easy it was for us to talk to each other now that we had gotten rid of all of our pretenses.

"Just how you were," he said, "I bet nobody even asks you. Everyone probably just expects you to be okay because you're a hero."

"But not you," I observed.

"Nah," he said, "I know better than anyone that you're only human. After all of that _shit _that you've gone through, there's no way that you're just fine."

I stared at him in shock until he continued. Malfoy was… sweet. Caring. This was too bizarre.

"You don't have to tell me anything," Malfoy said, regarding my silence, "But here, smoke this."

He handed me a joint and I realized that that was what he had been working on this whole time we'd been conversing. I glanced up at him, unsure. He rolled his eyes and snatched it back from me, lighting it with his wand. He put the drug between his lips and inhaled. The end of it glowed bright green.

"It's easy," he said, handing it back to me, "Just put it in your mouth and suck the smoke in. Hold your breath for a little while, then let it out."

I pulled and the smoke filled my lungs. It had a strange taste; very earthy. As I held it in there, Draco said,

"Try and exhale through your nose if you can."

But I could not exhale through my nose. I started coughing and spluttering, choking on the new sensation. _And people actually liked this? _I handed the joint back to him quickly, still hacking. My eyes watered.

"Yeah, that can happen," he said lazily, taking another hit, "You just have to get used to it."

He passed the joint back to me and I took hold of it with a determined kind of vigor. I filled my lungs with smoke again and held on, swallowing back any coughing and ignoring the burning feeling in my throat. When I exhaled through my nostrils, Draco congratulated me on taking such a good hit, especially for a beginner. I smiled. I liked having Draco compliment me.

So Malfoy and I got high by the lake, smoking the joint that he had charmed to be "slow-burning". The more the drugs took effect, the more I began to notice. I could feel every individual blade of grass on my skin as I ran my hands over the lawn we were sitting on. The lake took on a shimmering beauty that I had never taken the time to notice before. Even when I tried to think of Voldemort, a voice in my head reminded me that he was gone, and I was here; that was then, and this was now. _Now _was all that mattered. And what was now? Now was sitting here in the grass by the lake with Draco Malfoy, an enemy-turned-friend, or friend_ly, _at least. How could I even dwell on the past when there was such a wonderful present?

"It's like I'm a dragon," I stated, passing the joint, which was highly diminished in size, back to Draco.

"What are you going on about?"

"Well with the way I'm blowing smoke through my nose," I explained, "It makes me feel like a dragon."

"You're too high," Malfoy said, almost endearingly, "I bet you're going to turn into a real pothead now."

"Harry Pothead," I scoffed, "Like I never heard _that _one before."

Draco laughed for a second or two, then fell silent, staring out over the lake with a glazed look in his eyes. He turned and smiled at me.

"Did you know that _my _name means _dragon_?" he asked. We erupted into a fit of giggles.

It was so nice, sitting there, talking and laughing with Draco Malfoy. We had more in common than I thought. We sat with our backs against the tree trunk for hours, deep in conversation; all the while smoking through several joints together. Sometimes we sat in warm, comfortable silence, and that was just as pleasant as talking. I felt a very tranquil sensation wash over me. I took another hit and marveled at my surroundings. The first lights of dawn were showing; we'd been out there all night; and the conversation had momentarily paused. The lake in front of us reflected the pale sky and the dark silhouettes of the mountains. Draco was leaning back on the grass, watching the stars as they slowly disappeared. I could feel that my eyelids were getting heavy.

"What do you say we get some sleep?" I asked him. He nodded and proceeded to stand up. Together, we dragged ourselves back to the castle.

"There's something I think you should know about me, Harry." Draco said as we were passing the greenhouses.

"Alright," I said, "I've learned a fair bit about you so far. One more fact can't hurt, right?"

He smiled in acknowledgement of my teasing, but clearly he was nervous about whatever he had to say. I gave him a little encouragement.

"Go on then, tell me. Please."

He grimaced and swallowed a lump in his throat, then focused his eyes on nothing but the castle door ahead of us.

"I'm gay." He said.

"Really?" I asked, and his eyes snapped back to me, "Who else knows?"

"Nobody," he said through gritted teeth. He was mortified and clearly already regretting telling me.

"Wow. Draco, that's…" I trailed off, wanting to word this the right way, "I'm really honored that I'm the first person you're coming out to. That's really… something. It, er, means a lot."

He eyed me suspiciously.

"What?" I asked.

"I don't understand. You're not _weirded out _or anything like that?"

"Of course not," I replied. I didn't bother telling him why, instead allowing him to stew over it as we walked into the castle, grinding his teeth together. When it was time for our departure; him to the dungeons and myself to the tower; I clapped my hand over his back.

"I had fun, mate." I said, "Let's do this again sometime soon."

His eyes widened briefly but he was back in control immediately.

"Yeah, sure." He said, "It really was kind of nice to actually just-"

"Talk?" I finished for him, "Yeah, I know. You're a cool guy, Draco. I'm sorry we wasted all that time fighting."

"I'm sorry too," he said, "But hey, better late than never, right?"

"Right." I agreed.

We bade each other goodnight, or rather, good morning, and set off in opposite directions for our dormitories. I smiled into my pillow as I rehashed the past four hours. If anybody had told me a week ago that I was going to spend a night befriending, smoking, sharing stories, and _bonding _with Draco Malfoy; enough for him to come out of the closet to me, well I wouldn't have believed them, but the evidence was right there, clear as day. It had happened; we had put our differences aside and _liked _each other, _enjoyed _each other's company. I slept dreamlessly and awoke in the mid-afternoon, feeling refreshed.

And so it was: the first time I ever truly felt peace was the night when Draco Malfoy became my friend.

Being friends with Draco wasn't a peaceful affair itself. Draco was dramatic, loud, and oftentimes demanding, but man, he was _fun_. It was hard to feel serene when you were laughing your ass off at his outstanding wit or running amok under the invisibility cloak, playing pranks after hours; constantly at the risk of getting caught because he _dared _you when you two were drunk to do it without your silly little Marauder's Map. And it was hard to sleep when Draco was always waking you up in the middle of the night with another crazy idea.

Saying that he had a thirst for life was the understatement of the century. Draco didn't want to just _live; _he wanted to _soar! _Hanging out with Draco made it difficult to find time to sulk over my past, and being this happy made it difficult for me to want to. There was a better kind of rush for me to cling to; the adrenaline kick of running through abandoned corridors, throwing empty bottles of booze as we went, stumbling loudly and laughing, _always_ laughing; or the triumph in smoking pot before dinnertime and then going to the Great Hall together for some amazing food; or the thrill of planning to put into action whatever Draco had in mind. And trust me, Draco's brain was always teeming with ideas. The kid was bloody brilliant! I desperately wished my other friends would get over their prejudices sooner, though I certainly couldn't see Hermione approving of all the hell we were raising.

The second time I ever truly felt at peace was the result of acting without thinking. It was the December holidays and the sixth through eighth year students were having a little mixer in the Room of Requirement, complete with drinking and dancing. Draco and I did a couple of shots with Ron, Seamus, Dean, Hermione, and Ginny in the Gryffindor tower and smoked with Blaise, Pansy, and Goyle in the dungeons (from the Lion's Den to the Snake Pit, as Draco had called it). Feeling decently buzzed, we arrived at the party together, which was already heavily underway. Draco said goodbye to me and made a beeline for the dance floor.

"Honestly, mate, I just don't get it." Ron said, once Draco was out of earshot.

"You got a problem with it?" I asked.

"No, I'm somewhat glad for it." Ron admitted, "He's a lot of fun when he's not being a prat, _which he hasn't been_," he added hastily when I shot him a look, "It's just that blimey, you've hated each other for so long and then just like that," he snapped his fingers, "you two are old chums. It's just strange."

"It's a nice change of pace though," Hermione added. I smiled at her.

"He's a good guy," I said, turning around to see if I could spot him in the crowd.

What I saw astonished me so much that I couldn't continue my conversation with Ron and Hermione. Draco was out on the dance floor, but to call what he was doing _dancing _wouldn't be doing it justice. Draco Malfoy moved, really _moved _to the music. It was so fluid and natural and enthusiastic that I couldn't take my eyes off of him even if I had wanted to. I had never seen anybody dance like that before. He was so tantalizing, enticing, and too damn animated. Drunk or not, high or not, hetero or not, I found that I _needed _to dance with him; I would not be okay unless I did.

His body twisted and curled itself in fascinating ways and I found myself no more immune to his hypnotizing contortions than the girls begging to dance with him were. I chuckled at this; my own private joke, being the only person who knew of his sexuality. He didn't want these girls. He wanted a different kind of dance partner; the kind that I suddenly hoped I could be for him. I made my way over and he smiled at me, twisting and turning and rolling his hips in an almost snake-like manner. I almost started speaking in Parseltongue as I watched him.

"Hey Potter," He said, grabbing the drink I offered him, "Find somebody worth dancing with yet? I saw a leggy brunette from Ravenclaw eyeing you when we came in."

He was actually trying to be my wingman? I rolled my eyes and moved behind him, touching my hand to his hip, pulling him against me. He halted and faced me immediately.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I have to dance with you," I replied, "I've never seen anybody move like that."

He stared at me, bewildered.

"Please," I said. He continued to stare.

"But you're a _guy._" He finally said. I moved closer.

"Yeah, and you like guys, right?" I asked, reaching out to pull him back into me.

"But you don't," he qualified, hesitantly accepting my hand.

"That remains to be determined," I replied. Draco looked confused, but he said no more. Instead, he shrugged and downed his drink, throwing caution to the wind.

We began to move together in time with the music; the deep thrumming of the bass stealing its way into our bodies. I didn't know whether or not anybody was watching us. If they were, I'm sure they were just as surprised as I was. I was in way over my head here, but Draco's moving body had me under a spell. I continuously needed to pull him closer and he'd oblige, but then he'd pull away every so often, to flit around me like a devious butterfly whenever the heat between us became too noticeable.

"Why didn't you tell me you were gay?" he growled, as I ran my teeth over his earlobe.

"I don't know if I am," I whispered, "I'm sort of acting on impulse here."

Draco smirked and pulled me closer.

"So am I," he said, and then he kissed me. It was wild and unbridled, passionate and somehow teasing. It ended all too quickly. Before he could even assess my reaction, I leaned right back into him to kiss him again, to return it the way I wanted to. This kiss wasn't like the first one. This one was a little slower, a little longer, a little deeper. There was a flush in our cheeks that had nothing to do with dancing. Our hands came together and Draco laced his fingers with mine, and then we began to move once more. I couldn't keep my free hand still; it ran up and down his back, all over his sides, hips, thighs, through his hair, over his chest, anywhere I could reach. I simply couldn't get enough of him and the absolute _rush _I got from touching him.

A slower song began and I glanced at Draco, wondering what we were supposed to do next. He answered my unspoken question by grabbing my hand and wrapping his other arm around my waist, pulling me close to him as we began to sway together. We were matched in height, so our heads rested comfortably on each other's shoulders. I closed my eyes and let him lead me, his steady hand against the small of my back guiding me as we rotated. The mood had changed so abruptly and I felt a calm kind of safety as I surrendered to it. Draco ran his fingers through my hair and placed feather-soft kisses on my temple. I sighed, feeling dreamy and well-contented, breathing him in. Then I rested my head on his shoulder once more and let him move me across the dance floor as he willed it.

And so it was: the second time I ever truly felt at peace when I realized that I was in love with Draco Malfoy.

Dating Draco was anything but peaceful. He was needy, whiney, and oftentimes jealous, but good Lord, he was _passionate_. Being alone with him was like being caught in the middle of a tornado; his whirlwind energy consumed everything in its path. It was hard to keep cool when Draco knew exactly what it took to make you fall to your knees and beg for him; something he used to his advantage all the time; sucking on my neck or licking my collarbone or biting my bottom lip ever so slightly when he wanted to get his way. On the contrary, it was also hard to feel secure whenever Draco became blinded by his jealousy; something that happened far too often, what with his flair for the dramatics. And of course, his insatiable need for sex made it very difficult to get a full, restful night of sleep, but that was something I didn't quite mind. Draco was difficult to keep up with sometimes. He left my heart pounding and my head spinning.

The third time I ever truly felt at peace was after a glorious moment of victory. It had started out as ordinary a day as any. The first warm Saturday of spring had finally come and Draco and I had taken our lunch outside in favor of picnicking by the lake. I leaned back against our tree, feeling heavy and relaxed, working on nothing but digesting and soaking up some vitamin D. Draco laughed at me.

"Such a fat-ass, Potter." He chuckled. I grabbed a nearby stick on the ground and threw it in his direction, aiming for his face. It missed him by an entire three feet. He laughed vehemently and I closed my eyes.

"Shut it, Malfoy," I said, still not bothering to move.

"I'm bored," he moaned. When I didn't respond, he said, "Come on, let's go play."

I opened one eye and watched him stand up.

"Play?" I asked hopefully and a tad bit suggestively. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Quidditch, you prat." He said, sounding exasperated, "Come on, let's go. It's the nicest day we've had all year. I don't want to spend it watching you be lazy."

He shot me an accusing glare and I groaned, though I was totally up for it.

"Unless you're too scared that I'll beat you, like always…" He offered, giving me the push that I needed. I cracked a smile.

"You wish," I said, and stood up.

The Quidditch stadium was on the other side of the castle grounds. We walked along as the banter ensued. Draco lit a joint and passed it to me.

"Never rode a broomstick high," I mused.

"You'll love it," he assured me, "Every game of Quidditch I've ever won, I've won it high."

"You smoked when you were _twelve_?" I hissed.

"Only for Quidditch matches," he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

We finally arrived at the Quidditch pitch. Grabbing our brooms and one of the practice Quaffles, we made our way to the sidelines.

"Do I at least get a few practice laps?" I asked, "Never flown high."

Draco agreed and I found myself shooting up into the air. I watched the world grow smaller below me as I skyrocketed to the heavens. This was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It was bloody brilliant! I saw Draco whiz by me in a blur and I pushed my broom forward to catch up with him. He plummeted into a spectacular dive and I followed suit, shouting loudly as the adrenaline coursed through my veins; waiting until the last second to pull back up. We slowed down, flying side by side around the pitch, occasionally circling each other as though it were a choreographed dance. I could have easily spent the entire afternoon flying like that, but Draco reminded me of why we were there in the first place.

"Ready to play, Potter?"

"You bet," I said, smiling wickedly. Draco was going down.

Our game was awkward and hysterical. A one-on-one game of Quidditch was more like a one-on-one game of Muggle basketball. And since neither of us ever handled the Quaffle during regular matches, we were shaky and spastic on our broomsticks with this unfamiliar-sized ball. We dropped the Quaffle frequently and finally just switched to a friendly game of Find the Snitch; a game I found that I was very good at. Now, my competitive boyfriend hated to lose, which was understandable, to a certain point. But after beating him nine times at the game, he _still _wouldn't accept his defeat.

"Come off it," I said as he challenged me to yet another round, "Just give it up, Draco, it's practically night time."

And indeed, dusk had fallen over the castle. From where we were, hovering just above the Quidditch goal posts, the view was spectacular. Draco followed me as I flew back to the ground to return the Snitch to its trunk. He landed gracefully beside me.

"Cheater," he sniffed. I rolled my eyes.

"You're such a prat," I said. He punched my arm playfully.

"Knock it off," I laughed and I hit him back.

We began shoving each other and casting insults as though they were spells; a habit that neither of us ever really could break, though our words had kinder connotations now. Draco put me in a headlock and we dragged each other to the ground in a playful struggle; panting and clutching the stitches in our sides from laughing when we broke apart. Several stars were starting to appear as the sky darkened overhead.

"Can you believe it's been eight years?" he asked, leaning back onto his elbows, "We're almost done with Hogwarts. Just one more month and we're out of here. It's amazing."

"What are you doing after we graduate?" I asked him.

Having a serious moment alone with Draco was a rare occurrence. Our time together was either spent enjoying ourselves or fighting, but rarely discussing the past or the future. We always seemed to focus on the present, and that worked for us.

"Try to find a job and an apartment, I suppose." Draco said casually, "Can't live at the Malfoy Manor forever, right? What about you?"

"Auror training, I guess. I never really planned my life this far, to be honest." I told him, "I didn't think I'd actually live this long, but becoming an Auror seems like a logical choice."

There was an uncomfortable silence and for a moment, neither of us knew what to say. Draco cleared his throat and brought up the subject that had been secretly plaguing my mind for about a month.

"So uh, where are you thinking of living?" he asked, knowing that I had no intentions of returning to Grimmauld Place or Privet Drive.

"Well," I began, feeling more nervous by the second, "That depends."

"On what?" he asked.

"On you," I replied. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Draco, where do you see this relationship going?" I asked, sounding much braver than I felt.

"Why?" he asked, the hurt hidden in his voice. Clearly, he'd misunderstood, "Are you breaking up with me Potter?" he sneered. Sneering was his primary defense and first warning sign of his unpredictable temper. I quickly tried to remedy the misinterpretation.

"No, Draco, but I was just wondering-"

"Wondering what?" he spat.

"Let me finish!" I snapped, then blurted out, "Draco how would you feel about living together after Hogwarts?"

He was momentarily stunned into silence while the feeling of unease crawled back into my stomach as I waited for his response. Once he'd collected his thoughts, his face broke out into a wide grin, and I released the breath I'd been holding.

"Are you being serious right now?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. To my delight, his smile stretched further and his eyes lit up.

"I'd love that," he said, leaning in to kiss me.

We lied back on the grass together and he turned on his side to look at me, his head resting on his hand. He was grinning from ear to ear in a manner that was rare for him. This smile was not coupled with suspicion or lust, benevolence, malignance, or triumph. It was not devious or indignant or humorous or nervous or any other kind of smile that usually came with Draco's ever-intense, complex emotions. It was just joy; simple and over-powering. He looked genuinely and solely, completely happy; nothing else. My expression could have only mirrored his, for Draco's mood was contagious.

"What are you so smug about?" he asked when I turned my head and smiled up at the night sky.

"Nothing," I said, "It's just that you made me really happy just now."

He smiled serenely; a calm enveloping him in a way that I'd never seen before. His eyes had a glazed look over them that were usually only present when he was drunk. His guard appeared to be completely down. This was Draco in natural form.

"I'm happy too," he told me, "People don't move in with each other unless they're serious about each other."

"I'm very serious about us," I pointed out.

"I know," he said, "It's just that you have to _really _be in love to take a big step like that."

"What are you trying to say?" I asked him. He laughed.

"Just that I'm glad that the man I'm in love with loves me in return." He replied.

I let that sink in for a moment; he rarely used the "L" word. Draco was affectionate, passionate, and well-articulated, but he wasn't mushy. His tender side could be easily seen, if you knew how to recognize it; the way his brow furrowed as he fussed over me when I wasn't feeling well, the way he always made sure I drank water before going to bed after a night of drinking so I wouldn't get sick the next morning, the way he stroked my hair when he thought I was asleep, the way his eyes softened at the corners whenever he said my name. He wasn't completely ostentatious when it came to public displays of affections and he had only told me that he loved me a handful of times before. I had never questioned his feelings for me, but still, it was nice to hear. I leaned my head on his chest and listened to the boy breathe for a little while, letting the steady in-and-out flow of oxygen calm me. He wrapped an arm around me, while the other hand feathered itself through my hair.

"I love you, Harry," I heard him murmur, "more than you'll ever know."

Screw Quidditch; this victory topped everything.

And so it was: the third time I ever truly felt at peace was the night I understood that Draco Malfoy loved me; _really _loved me, too.

Finding a place to live was no easy task. After we graduated from Hogwarts, we went our separate ways; him to the Manor and me to the Burrow, and we met up every day to look for places to live. Draco was picky. He found something wrong with every place we went to, oftentimes blaming the real estate agent or the current homeowners or the landlord for their "less than adequate" accommodations. The spoiled brat never seemed to be satisfied. It annoyed me to no end, but after a while, it started to worry me. I tried to deny it, but that nagging little voice in the back of my head grew louder with every dwelling that Draco rejected. _He doesn't want you_, the voice told me over and over again, _He doesn't want to live with you. He's stalling. He doesn't love you. _When the voice turned from a quiet whisper to practically a shout, I had to put a stop to it.

"Draco," I said curtly after he had reduced the real estate agent to tears. It was our third agent this week; we just couldn't hold onto them what with Draco's fiery tongue.

"Harry?" he replied, glancing disgustedly at the woman who was crying before him.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?" I asked through gritted teeth.

He followed me outside of the apartment and watched me with curiosity as I tried to find the right words.

"Is there a reason," I asked, "why you have a problem with every single place we look at? You haven't liked any of them. We've been looking for two whole months and we haven't made any progress. I can't stay with the Weasleys forever, you know."

He didn't interrupt me, so I continued.

"Look Draco, if you don't want to live with me, just tell me. I'll be okay with; we were moving sort of fast there. We've only been together for a little while, so I understand if you're not ready or something, really. But we can't keep going on like this."

"You think I don't want to live with you?" he asked, sounding somewhat insulted, "Potter, that's the _only _thing I want. You think I _like_ living at the Manor? You think I _like _being away from you? I hate it. There's nothing I want more than for us to start our lives together."

"So then _why _do you reject every single place that we look at? They're all pretty decent, you know?"

"Because," he said, his face flaring red. Cue that temper, "Because I don't want to give you _just decent_, okay? I want to give you the best because that's what you deserve. I want it to be perfect, and none of these places seem good enough for you!"

We stared at each other for a heated moment, and then he averted his eyes. Clearly, he hadn't wanted to let that much slip. I tried to hide my smile. Laughing at him now would do no good, despite how much I wanted to. An embarrassed Draco was something that warranted caution.

"Hey," I said, my voice soft.

He looked up at me, and for a moment my breath hitched. He was so damn beautiful. I gathered my thoughts and then continued.

"Listen Draco, I don't need the best. I don't want the best. I'll be happy wherever we live, not because of the house itself or the furniture, but because I'll be living with you. That's all I want. If the place happens to have a dripping faucet or a squeaky floorboard or if it's a little small, we'll manage. Where's the fun in perfection anyway?"

"And what do you think of _this _place?" Draco mumbled.

"I think it's great." I told him and he smiled.

But then that appreciative smile turned into a devious smirk, and he turned on the spot and went back inside the apartment. Curious, I followed him. He stood in front of the real estate agent, who was red-faced and blotchy-eyed after crying. She looked up at him, waiting for another barrage of insults, but found none.

"We'll take it!" Draco proclaimed, his arms spread wide. When the shocked real estate agent didn't move, he became haughty again.

"Well don't just sit there and be useless," he snapped at her, "I believe there are papers we have to sign?"

She hurried from the room to find the documents and he smiled at me.

"Welcome home," he said, gesturing to the space around us.

Even with all that settled, there was no time for peace. Moving in was a fiasco in itself, what with Draco's temper and dramatic outbursts. It took way longer than necessary (or maybe it just felt that way), and then Draco _insisted _on remodeling and redecorating the entire place, which meant that the next couple of weeks were spent in work clothes, going to Muggle stores like Home Depot and Bed, Bath, and Beyond because Draco wanted it to be _authentic_, instead of just doing it magically.

Naturally, since Draco had never done any Muggle kind of work in all his life, he had no clue what to do, which meant that it was _my _job. I was supposed to do all the grunt work and backbreaking labor while Draco stood around and dictated every move I made while drawling on and on about color schemes.

"It's a one-bedroom flat, for God's sake!" I finally yelled at him one day, "We have a bathroom, a kitchen, and a sitting area. This isn't the fucking Queen's palace!"

After a long and heated argument, Draco finally agreed to do it magically. Of course, Draco went overboard and gave the whole place an expansion charm, making the apartment several times larger than it really was; adding extra bedrooms and bathrooms and even adding a greenhouse, a ballroom, a sunroom, our own offices, and a hot tub. So naturally, peace was hard to come by when Draco Malfoy wanted to christen every flat surface in the house. I didn't feel tranquility for a long time to come.

The fourth time I ever truly felt at peace was several years later, after one of the most nerve-wracking days of my life. I'll be frank; it's hard to relax when you're the best man in a wedding. Between writing the speech, placating Mrs. Weasley at all times, planning the bachelor party, making sure the groom looked smart, collaborating with the bride's chosen maid of honor/your ex-girlfriend/groom's sister to make sure the wedding goes off without a hitch, all the while planning a pre-approved, life-changing surprise of your own… well, it was exhausting.

I stood at Ron's side near the altar on the day of his wedding. His bachelor party two nights before had been a huge success, and then of course, I stayed up with him most of last night calming his nerves and discussing the future, as he so often had done with me during our Hogwarts years. However, instead of the doom and gloom and terror that our futures once held, now there was nothing but happiness; dull, beautiful happiness. We never thought it would be possible for us to live this long and feel this satisfied. Yet now here we were, standing at the altar. Ron was sweating and shaking like a leaf.

"Calm down," I told him, "It's starting."

And indeed, the music began; Pachabel's Canon in D, as all the living Weasley brothers made their way down the aisle with Hermione's chosen bridesmaids; two of her cousins, plus Pansy Parkinson and Luna Lovegood; followed closely by her maid of honor, Ginny. The spectators then stood as the music changed to the Wedding March. I felt Ron go rigid beside me and then relax as Hermione appeared at the beginning of the aisle on her father's arm. She was completely beautiful; angelic even; and once her eyes locked in on Ron's, she lit up, looking happier and more relaxed than I had ever seen her.

"Well?" I whispered, leaning into Ron while the sobbing Mrs. Weasley handed the sobbing Mrs. Granger a tissue.

"She's absolutely perfect." He breathed, still not taking his eyes from her. I punched his arm.

"Knock 'em dead, Tiger." I said, and sat down with the rest of the groomsmen, turning back and grinning at Draco, who was smiling and wiping away his own tears on the sleeve of his best dress robes. My hand automatically reached into the pocket of my own robes, enclosing briefly on the small black velvet box that I was saving for later.

The ceremony was beautiful. Even _I _found myself tearing up a bit when they exchanged vows. The cheers rang loudly when Ron kissed his bride, and several wedding-themed firecrackers, courtesy of George's business, bursted above the couple, releasing doves and bells and butterflies.

Like Bill's wedding four years prior, the reception was held in the Weasley's backyard. There had been some discrepancies over getting Hermione's family there, as they were all Muggles, so Portkey had been the preferred method of travel. Tents were set up and once the sun began to sink, floating lanterns were lit, casting their amber glow around the well-manicured lawn. As the best man, I had to dance with Ginny a few times, and I made sure I got to dance with the bride at least once, before I finally found Draco waiting for me in the crowd. He took my hand and we made our way to the dance floor. Our arms wrapped around each other like they had several years before at Hogwarts and we danced for a long time, not even noticing the world around us. After yet another song ended, Draco kissed me softly on the lips. His eyes seemed glazed over and he appeared to be well-contented. In my gut, I knew that this was the perfect moment. I'd been waiting all of my life for this.

"Come on," I said to him, tugging his elbow as he followed me off the dance floor and into the gardens. Ron and Hermione gave me a knowing look as we passed them and I smiled at them. I was glad to have their support.

The September air was cool and the night was clear. The celebration could still be heard in the distance, but all that could be seen from where we were was the faint glow of the lanterns. We sat down on a stone bench near a fountain, surrounded by a heap of nocturnal daylilies. My palms were sweating; I had never felt so nervous in my entire life.

"I need to tell you something." I said to him.

"What is it?" he asked, scooting closer to me on the bench. I thought for a moment, hoping to word it in the best way possible.

"Before we became friends, I didn't think I had a chance at happiness. I was living each day like a ghost; just a shadow of the man I should have been. Then you came into my life more permanently and changed everything. You have made me happier than I ever imagined I could be, Draco, and I want to be with you forever."

He silently looked on as I kneeled down in front of him and pulled the box from my robes; opening it and brandishing the white-gold engagement ring that I'd been saving for him for two and a half years. His hands immediately jumped to cover his mouth, which had fallen open in shock.

"I want to marry you, Draco Malfoy;" I said, "I want you forever. Will you do me that honor? Will you marry me?"

When we emerged from the garden several moments later, Draco was hanging onto my arm like a lover would, openly displaying his left hand, which proudly displayed _my _ring on his fourth finger. Beneath the congratulations and toasts and the special blessing from Ron and Hermione, there was a feeling growing deep inside of me that I didn't bother trying to fight. This feeling was contentment beyond the point of peace, and happiness beyond the point of joy. Holding Draco's hand while we proudly announced our engagement was a new level of ecstasy that I never knew existed.

But later on that night, away from the crowd of wedding-goers and well-wishers, that was where it really counted. There was something exquisitely divine about seeing Draco in my bed, naked and sweaty, legs tangled between the sheets, moaning my name in delight, still wearing my ring on his finger. He was mine, officially, and the ring, which I hoped he would never take off, was what symbolized our commitment to each other. And hours later, once we were lying on top of each other, spent and breathing heavily, I caught a glimpse of that delicate band on his finger again and outwardly sighed, feeling dreamy and peaceful and happier than I'd ever been. The entire day almost seemed surreal, and I didn't mind it at all. Draco was mine forever. My mind and heart were at peace.

And so it was: the fourth time I ever truly felt at peace was the night when Draco Malfoy agreed to marry me.

If you think for even a second that there was a single calm moment throughout the planning of the wedding, you are wrong entirely. I had hoped, in the very beginning, that Draco's type-A need to be in control of every minute detail would take a backseat for the wedding ride. I had hoped that Draco would have desired a simple, modest wedding. I had hoped that I would have had a say in some of the decisions, simply for the sake of fairness. Somewhere in my imagination, I saw the planning of the wedding as something fun that we could do together. I envisioned the two of us picking out the venue and the attire and the food and entertainment; agreeing on just about everything; holding hands as we registered for gifts and taste-tested different cakes during the day with our bright, Kodak smiles; and lounging together at night while we gushed on about what a great future we were going to have. But since I couldn't tell the difference between a hydrangea and a calla lily and frankly didn't care; and since Draco was, well, _Draco_, I threw in the towel within a week of our engagement and turned the responsibility of planning the wedding fully onto him.

He delved into this new project spectacularly, letting it consume most, if not all, of his free time. I would often come home and there he'd be, hunched over a table while comparing invitation fonts, or arguing with Hermione over catering choices. I'd make to say hello to him; to ask if there was anything I could do to help, but he'd hold up his hand in a shushing manner and continue on with his task, sometimes losing himself for hours and not coming to bed until long after I had fallen asleep. Planning a wedding was the best form of abstinence that there ever was.

It wasn't enough for Draco to just immerse himself completely in the details of our wedding. He was a Bridezilla in just about every sense of the word, minus, of course, the _bride _part, and oftentimes, he was absolutely unbearable. The few times he asked for my input, he shot down everything I said and just went with whatever he had originally liked. There was nothing cute or glamorous about it. If it weren't for Hermione keeping him in check and dragging him back to earth whenever he got ahead of himself, I doubt I would have seen my fiancé at all.

As the wedding drew closer, Draco became more frazzled; snapping at innocent civilians and scowling so much that I began to worry. I told him, in hopes of getting a laugh out of him, that if he kept scowling like that, the look would stick and the wedding photos would be ruined. He promptly dissolved into tears and accused me of getting cold feet. At least once a week, he'd burst forth from his study shouting that the wedding was off; that this was too much for him. It had genuinely worried me at first, but soon I realized that he was just being a dramatic little git like always and that eventually, with the right coaxing, he'd suck it up and move on. And of course, the right kind of coaxing was to agree that maybe it _was _too much for him; perhaps we should hire a wedding coordinator? With that, he would resume his scowl and stalk away while grumbling to himself, and I'd find him back in his study hours later, meticulously going over the guest list, or passed out and drooling on the seating chart. If he was awake and grumbling, I knew to leave well enough alone. But on the occasion when I found him asleep, I carried him over my shoulder to bed. He bitched and protested whenever I did this, but I could tell that he secretly liked it. The only times I could get him to relax were either with external aid (marijuana or a Calming Draught), or after sex, which was rare in itself. In short, tensions were running high in the Potter-Malfoy apartment.

Despite the added stress, we were happy. Draco complained a lot, but planning parties was just his _thing_; it always had been. And I was happy to sit back and watch him throw away a good chunk of our Gringotts account for this, for the look on his face whenever some small wedding detail was accomplished and set was just too wonderful. Though I was nowhere near salvation, the promise of tranquility in the form of life as a married man was looming in the distance, getting closer and closer with every passing day, every galleon spent, every RSVP. The wedding was drawing nigh and I checked the days off of my calendar with increasing excitement.

The fifth time I ever truly felt at peace was shortly after the most important day of my life. It was foolish of me to think for even a second that some sort of calm feeling would wash over me when the time actually came for me to get married. The Weasleys had been nothing but good to us. Molly and Arthur had thrown a wonderful engagement party for us not long after we announced it (their fortunes had really turned around after the war) and the Weasley boys, with the help of Blaise Zabini and Greg Goyle, had thrown Draco and I a magnificent bachelor party that involved a Portkey to Australia and some drunk Quidditch above the Great Barrier Reef. Adrenaline coursed through my blood for days afterwards. And just like before Ron and Hermione's wedding, Ron and I stayed up for hours the night before my wedding, reminiscing on our Hogwarts days and reciting our hopes and worries for the future.

"You know, I never would have believed it back then," Ron said, taking a swig of his beer, "but I suppose you and Malfoy _always _sort of had chemistry. It was just misdirected, I guess."

I thought about it and decided he was right. There had always been something between Draco and I; a constant, consistent passion of sorts; a need to be in each other's lives. And to think that the young boy whom I had once played tricks on and later despised was now the man whom I had come to love and was going to marry… Well, it was nothing short of incredible. My heart raced and soared at the thought of it.

"You two are going to be great together," he reassured me before we finally went to sleep, "I can just tell. I'm so happy for you, mate."

"Thanks Ron; for everything," I said as I embraced my best man before turning out the lights in the spare bedroom of Shell Cottage; where the wedding was to be held in the morning. Draco was spending his last night as a single man at the Malfoy manor; as it was bad luck to see each other before the wedding. Molly prepared and brought over a gigantic breakfast from the Burrow, but I was too queasy with nerves to eat much. No sooner than I had taken a few measly bites of toast and perhaps a gulp of orange juice did Fleur attack my hair with a comb and some enchanted hairspray. I changed into my tuxedo and Molly straightened my tie for me while her eyes glistened with tears. When she finished, she stared at me wordlessly for a moment, and then pulled me into her embrace.

"Harry, you've been like a son to me for so long now," she said, "I love you so much and I'm so happy for you. You're going to have such a wonderful life."

"Thank you," I said, "Molly, you've been the mother I never had. I can't thank you enough for practically raising me every summer."

Her vice-like grip around my neck tightened momentarily and then relaxed as she released me and hurried away to reapply make-up to her now-tear-stained face. The morning went by in a blur and before I knew it, Draco and I were standing outside on the sea cliff with the wizard who was bonding us. Our vows had been said and the rings had been exchanged. The wizard held the tip of his wand to our intertwined hands.

"By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you bonded for life."

The wand emitted a jet of gold light, which wound itself around our hands and glowed faintly for a moment, disappearing as our hands broke apart and I kissed my husband for the first time. Our guests stood and applauded but I barely even noticed. My eyes locked in on Draco's and I kissed him again before we made our way back down the aisle beneath a shower of enchanted confetti.

You can bet that the reception was no small affair. Even without all of Draco's lavish coordinating, our wedding still would have been the most talked about event of the year. Everyone in the wizarding world wanted and invitation to the Potter-Malfoy wedding; after all, their savior and their richest bachelor were getting married. _To each other_. Cameras flashed all over the pebbly shoreline as we made our way to the Portkey that would take us to the reception; which was located on a charming villa in Spain. Our guests followed us and began to arrive in small groups. They all congratulated us as they entered, pausing as they took in the marvelous view of the dazzling Spanish coast. I had to hand it to him; his work had really paid off. If there was one thing Draco knew how to do, it was to plan a party. Everything about this place was perfect. It was tasteful and extravagant, elegant yet rustic. It was exquisite.

We partied hard that night; everybody did. There was so much cheer and energy in the room; so much joy. It was infectious and hypnotic, as though somebody had cast a cheering charm over the entire party. Our wedding was a true celebration and the happiest day of my life. I could not take my eyes off of Draco, not even for a minute. Of course, I had a dance or two with Molly and Hermione and even Narcissa, but I couldn't stay away from him for too long.

When the last of our guests finally trickled out late in the hours of the evening, Draco and I were shown to our room; a luxurious suite with a private pool out back and a spectacular view of the ocean. But the paradise outside was nothing compared to the one indoors. Draco and I remained curled together and intertwined, making love throughout all hours of the night. It was blissful and divine, even hours later as we lay panting, gasping proclamations of love to each other. We didn't wake until the afternoon. It was only then as we lied together and breathed, that I felt myself slipping into that dreamy state of contentment. I sighed and laced my hand with Draco's, and he leaned down to kiss me softly, before nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck and closing his eyes again.

"Love you, Harry." He said, "More than you'll ever know."

The words were enough to make me melt. I closed my eyes and sighed again. I had never felt more complete and whole in my entire life. This was all I had ever wanted.

And so it was: the fifth time I ever truly felt at peace was at the beginning of the rest of our lives.


End file.
